Retraction
by Pivot
Summary: RiD: after 'An Explosive Situation' Megatron retrieves Skybyte, and reconsiders if he really wants to.


_Disclaimer: Still own nobody, as Megs would be happy to confirm. Just trying something new here. Feedback still appreciated._

* * *

**Retraction**

It wasn't that hard to find. The explosion far above Metro City had been caught on more cameras than he'd expected the humans to ever have. The footage swamped the news broadcasts even now, wedged in among the speculation and ads for Primus-cared-what. The exact details of how and when and especially _where_ it had happened were readily available. Then it was just a matter of calculating likely vectors and tracking comlinks…

They'd be chattering about it for _days_, no doubt. Prime was probably issuing a press statement at that moment, reassuring or triumphant or cautionary but certainly designed to be first-class Predacon irritant. He'd seen it a million times before. It was never any less annoying.

How _could_ it be, when they broadcast his failure to the entire world?

Megatron hauled his bitter thoughts back to the task at hand. He had his own share of the mess to clear up.

Serrated and gleaming purple and black, the alien jet nosed into the cloud of ice and debris, utterly silent except where a wisp of metal dust grazed his hull. He moved slowly, patiently, focused on picking out what he sought. The human automobile was so much scattered dust, of course, mingled with the particles of ice that melted and clung to his armour. Small nuisances, nothing more.

A twisted shard of armour announced that he was close. Megatron scanned around it, seeking any others and particularly the source…

_There._

He came up alongside the hulk of scorched metal, dimly blue and white under the ashy coating and blackened paint. Megatron growled to himself, running his sensors over the battered form of his second-in-command.

_If that's what you care to call him._

The shark's jaws were largely gone; only a few tattered remnants of wiring and fused armour remained. One fin had been ripped off, though as Sky-byte drifted, the other Predacon could see the others were still attached. Badly torn, but still there. Gashes ran along his sides and back and belly; looking closely, there was shrapnel from his own jaws in there with the ice.

Megatron didn't wince. He never did, even in robot mode.

But his anger cooled, just a little.

He sighed to himself, and scanned the area for any more bits of Sky-byte. There were a few pieces worth taking, from their size, so he moved away enough to pick them up with his tractor beam. He doubted they could be reattached, but there was always space in the smelter. The Predacons had no excuse to be wasteful.

With the fragments stowed in a compartment, he locked on to Sky-byte with the beam, and began towing him back down. The tractor beam's fields wouldn't protect the damaged shark from the heat of re-entry. It wouldn't kill him, either.

He'd been a fool to rely on Sky-byte, he thought bitterly. You _couldn't_ rely on Sky-byte. You could set him up and send him off with an excellent chance of success, but relying on the outcome was nothing short of stupid. He could have spectacular successes, of course – the ruins he'd made of Pyracon's docks were legendary. But he also had runs of equally spectacular failure.

Inconsistency, Megatron reflected, did not a good saviour make.

_And after all these years, I should _know_ that. _Why _did I let myself trust him _this_ of all times? _

But he could imagine why he had done it. Their energy situation was appalling, and his Predacons were worse – he'd been close to panicking when he saw that. And then Sky-byte had appeared, energy in hand, confident and courteous and ready with a plan. And frantically, Megatron had grasped at the offered lifeline.

He'd… allowed himself to hope…

Because _Sky-byte_ had talked him into it.

He stopped dead, high above the planet, Sky-byte's unconscious body held in place under him. Megatron felt his core roil and rocked, realising just how much he'd let the sycophantic scrapheap talk him into trusting. Oh, how he _loathed_ the fool who'd made him a laughing stock just when he needed relief, who'd made him invite – _request – _this humiliation. It made him shudder to think of how many people would be laughing.

Megatron seethed. _I could destroy them all. Perhaps I will. I'm _supposed_ to be their lord and master and thanks to _him_ they think I'm some kind of _**joke.**

He almost dumped the insensible wreck there and then. The urge to shut the beam off and fling himself away into the clouds below was overpowering. Too overpowering – he was too preoccupied to act. He hovered, wavering in the stratosphere.

But he held his position, and after a few minutes, the mortifying surge passed. Slowly, grudgingly, he resumed his descent. He could not afford to discard the most competent of his underlings, infuriating as they might be.

And Sky-byte… had been useful, in the past. And if his victories were erratic, then conversely, so were his failures. There was a chance he'd save them yet.

But there would be no more unnecessary chances, Megatron resolved. If there were plans, they would be his, and if Sky-byte were trusted, it would be with simple, straightforward tasks. He had lost enough by gambling. Now was the time to be practical, and cautious, and prudent.

(For a while, at least. Some part of him knew he had a weakness for pretty speeches, and Sky-byte was a limitless source of those. It was easier to hold out when you were furious, but still…)

He thought of being ridiculed again, and his mood set. No. He wouldn't suffer this again.

_At least I know Sky-byte won't think of joining the Autobots. With reliability like that, he'd_ never _do for a hero._

With a brief sneer at his load, Megatron dropped into the mesosphere, and set a course for headquarters. A little amending of his plans, and then… then they'd see who was laughing.


End file.
